When John turned into a giant bug, he refused to leave his quarters. In response, throwing everyone for a loop including himself, Rodney moved in. He set up a makeshift office centered around his laptop and coffee cup and took over the bed, since John wasn't using it.

John looked like a large praying mantis, with glossy black chitin, iridescent wings, and antennae that spiked and drooped like moody minimalist hair. His eyes were big and intense, completely dark but strangely expressive. He also chittered irritably from time to time, usually when Rodney was talking. They were apparently still arguing. Rodney was trying to learn John's language so that he could better justify his positions, though it was pretty clear that John still understood English just fine.

John also still had the ATA gene, which everyone agreed was unfathomable. But whenever someone stopped by to see Rodney, John mentally slammed the door shut again before they could enter.

"Xtkxx'rrxxx!" John's wings lifted and buzzed in a spasm of emotion and his feelers waved wildly around. Incomprehensible and useless; but Rodney had gotten used to holding up his own conversational end without worrying too much about John's. It wasn't as if he'd ever listened that closely before.

"Oh please. You think I'd care if it happened to me? If someone laughed I'd just bite their head off. Literally, I mean."

John's own head lowered and his feelers poked the air meaningfully in Rodney's direction.

Rodney gave him a sour look. "Don't get any ideas." He resumed typing. "I'm the person most instrumental to your recovery--besides Beckett."

"Xtt'vckxxvvttttt."

"Lorne just gets you bugs. Though I suppose that's important too. They say the way to a man's thorax is through his abdomen." He paused, frowning to consider that. "At least if you're heading upwa--hey!" A claw was scraping at his shoulder, rucking the material of his shirt in aggressive little movements. "Excuse me for trying to stay upbeat!"

John hunched over a bit, feelers drooping, and his grasp loosened as if he couldn't sustain his temper. His eyes were dark, despondent wells.

Awkwardly and impulsively, Rodney took his claw in hand. "We're *going* to reverse this. Trust me."

John bent his head lower and rested it on Rodney's shoulder. "There, there," Rodney said briskly, unsure what to do. Thankfully the door buzzed before he was required to come up with any other sentimental gestures. "Um. I think your flies are here."

Sad! adorable! Rodney understands everything John is saying, and John's just clearly trying to cling to McKay's affections. Cling, little minimalist-haired bug! Cling, you gentle-eyed monster! Rub your bug parts on Rodney's human parts! Because the longer you stay a bug, John, the more likely it is Rodney will seek his sexcapades elsewhere, and I'm just sayin', Ronon's a lot less chitonous.

*

(Also! I got drugs in the mail, wrapped in a very satisfying piece of greenish handmade paper that smells deliciously like the inside of a cigar box! Thank you so much! Exclamation point! I'm sending good hoodoo to wipe the dead-kitten dreams away, although fried kittens have taken up residence in my crazy brains now, too. And I dreamed that, despite our most concerted efforts, fmangel got pulled apart by zombies. *sigh*)